


Bit of a Mess

by kueble



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29046480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kueble/pseuds/kueble
Summary: Jaskier helps Geralt take care of a new scar.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 98





	Bit of a Mess

Jaskier expects to see Geralt sharpening his swords or caring for his armor when he walks into their room, so he’s surprised when his gear is abandoned by the table and the witcher is kneeling in meditation by the tiny fireplace. Jaskier replays their day in his head and realizes Geralt has been grumpier than usual, rougher around the edges than he should be. The day’s contract wasn’t even hard, just a lone wraith that Geralt took care of in record time.

He knows better than to disturb Geralt while he’s meditating, so he goes about his evening routine. His lute gets placed gently in its case and he changes into his sleep shirt, doing his best to brush the day’s dirt and dust from his clothing before he folds it neatly. He’s in the middle of washing his face in the basin of remarkably icy water when he hears stirring behind him. When he turns around, Geralt is staring at him, head tilted like a confused puppy, while he comes out of his trance.

He crosses the room and kneels down in front of Geralt, slowly reaching out to give him time to shy away from the touch. Geralt leans into him, so Jaskier wraps his arms around his shoulders and tangles his fingers in his loose hair. Geralt hums at the touch and settles his palms on Jaskier’s thighs.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jaskier asks softly.

“It’s stupid.”

“Not what I asked, darling,” Jaskier tells him with a raised eyebrow. Geralt sighs and rolls his eyes, but he’s had years to get used to Jaskier’s prying by now.

“My scar hurts,” he admits, pursing his lips as he looks to the side. Now that Jaskier knows what he’s looking for, he can see the weariness in Geralt’s expression, can see the way he’s hunched in on himself in discomfort.

“The griffin?” he asks, because it’s only been a week tops since the beast caught Geralt on the outside of his thigh, slicing him open cleanly.

“Yes,” Geralt mumbles, scrunching up his face. “It’s sore but when I go to touch it, it’s numb. I can’t feel where my fingers are pressing, so it just itches and feels uncomfortable...all while hurting still.”

“It stings but it’s numb?” Jaskier asks gently, trying to get as many details as he can so he can work out a solution, or at the very least a suitable distraction.

“Hence why it’s stupid,” Geralt chuckles gruffly. “It should be fine in a month or so, so there’s no need for me to let it bother me now.”

“Just because your body heals quickly doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a bit of comfort. Why don’t you get dressed for bed and I’ll take a look at it?” 

Geralt nods sharply before standing and going to change. Jaskier frowns at his back, wishing he could take away even the slightest hint of discomfort. He also wants to go back in time and go a few rounds with whoever taught his witcher that his pain didn’t matter, wasn’t worth taking care of. Just because you’re tougher than most doesn’t mean you don’t deserve nice things.

But no use dwelling on things he can’t change, so Jaskier gets up and rifles through their bag, looking for the chamomile and celandine salve he keeps on hand for moments like this. By the time he’s found it, Geralt is in his sleep shirt and is perched awkwardly on the edge of the small bed. Jaskier smiles at him and scurries over, offering him a quick kiss to the cheek before shoving him back against the headboard and climbing onto the bed.

“Let me take care of you?” he asks breathily, hands hovering over where the hem of his shirt meets his knees.

“Always,” Geralt mumbles, but he’s grinning, so Jaskier just smiles sweetly and pushes the shirt up to his stomach. 

The scar is still harsh and dark, but it’s pink rather than the bright red it had been a few days ago. Jaskier trails his fingers over the raised skin, wishing his touch could fix it. Geralt’s scars are a part of him, each one a reminder of how fucking strong and relentless he is. Jaskier knows that, but can’t help longing for a world where his love was untouched and free of the pain each mark brought.

Jaskier bends down and presses his lips to the start of the scar. Geralt takes a shaky breath above him, and Jaskier starts moving, slowly leaving a trail of kisses down the long line of the scar. He doesn’t know how much Geralt can feel, but he needs to show him how much he loves him, how worthy of every bit of good in this world he is. By the time he reaches the end of the scar, he realizes he’s crying.

“Fuck,” he mutters, sitting back up and shooting Geralt a sheepish look while he rubs at his eyes.

“I’m not worth crying over,” Geralt tells him as he brings a hand up to wipe at his cheeks. Jaskier leans into the touch and closes his eyes for a moment. He takes a deep breath to steady himself before speaking again.

“You’re worth everything,” he says adamantly, daring Geralt to argue with him. Instead Geralt tugs him in for a desperate kiss, more teeth than skill, and clings to him tightly. Jaskier slides his hands under Geralt’s shirt in a frantic search for more skin, needing to feel his solid warmth beneath his fingertips, needing to prove how real and alive he is.

When they pull back, he realizes he’s still crying, big ugly tears that cloud his vision and stick to his lashes. He wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand, willing himself to calm down. Geralt is here and he’s not going anywhere, and this is supposed to be about Jaskier taking care of him, not the other way around. He sniffles one more time before gathering his nerves and grabbing the pot of salve.

“I love you,” Geralt tells him softly, brushing his hair out of his eyes. He looks every bit as broken as Jaskier feels and Jaskier’s breath catches in his chest.

“I love you too,” Jaskier manages to choke out, his voice cracking over the words. He takes another deep breath and holds it for a moment, grounding himself as much as he can. He takes the lid of the pot and dips his fingers into the salve before reaching out with a slightly shaky hand to rub it into Geralt’s skin. He coats it thoroughly, making sure every bit of the rough scar is covered. Geralt runs a hand up and down his other arm, the heat giving him something else to focus on.

When he deems the wound sufficiently coated, Jaskier caps the salve and tosses it on the bedside table. He wipes his fingers on the bedding and climbs into Geralt’s lap, straddling his thighs but careful to keep his weight on the good one.

“Sorry I’m a bit of a mess,” Jaskier apologies, but Geralt just shakes his head and grins at him.

“We take care of each other. It’s what we do,” he says, and Jaskier can’t imagine being anywhere else than where he is right this second. He leans forward and rests his head on Geralt’s chest, humming happily when Geralt starts petting him, running his fingers through his short hair, nails gently scraping his scalp.

Eventually they’ll have to move, will crawl under the covers and fit their bodies together like the puzzle pieces that they are. But for now, he’s content just to hold Geralt and be held in return.


End file.
